A Demon's Work Is Never Done
by Flaming Orange Rose
Summary: Hell was the place where you faced your demons, day after day for the rest of eternity. Looks like his favourite hobby was going to turn into his worst nightmare. AU Yaoi GinIchi.
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: GinxIchigo

Summary: Hell was the place where you faced your demons, day after day for the rest of eternity. Looks like his favourite hobby was going to turn into his worst nightmare.

Warnings: Yaoi, AU, sexual situations, like always.

* * *

A Demon's Work Is Never Done

Chapter One

* * *

After a lifetime of being told to 'Go to Hell', he smirked as he was being escorted through the mighty gates themselves.

So, yeah, it kind of sucked that he was dead and everything. But, you go when you go. There was nothing he could do about it. And if he was still alive, he would have lost that 10,000 he bet Ulquiorra that it was all a load of bull. Hell and all that shit.

Ulquiorra, to the plain eye, looked like a little emo freak who worship Satan and all that fun. But in actual fact he was a strict Christian. It came as a huge shock to Grimmjow, who found him coming out of a church on a Sunday afternoon. Grimmjow shook his head with the irony, it was like Ulquiorra had been condemning him to this fate the whole time he had known the slight man.

Ulquiorra had always told him when he came back from his little 'adventures', that he was going straight to Hell, and that he wouldn't realise why until he was put on trial in the Great Court of Lucifer.

Seriously, words straight from the guy's mouth.

Grimmjow had never been much of a believer in the afterlife. He was more of a here and now person, focusing on the fun he could have today not the questionable life he would have after he closed his eyes for the last time. It had been too soon in his opinion, but whatever. Die young, stay beautiful, right?

Not to brag, but Grimmjow knew he was hot. Nothing short of God's gift to women, a title he had lived up to the whole of his 26 years. 6'2'' of sheer magnificence that never failed to turn the heads of the most beautiful women he set his sights on.

But one thing he would vehemently deny, was the accusation that he was shallow. Looks weren't something that he focused on when he was out looking for his next prey. It was much more complex than that. Grimmjow only looked for the taken women of the world. Got a boyfriend? Good. Married? Fucking fantastic!

He had some decency, he tried to avoid the ones with little kids, but teenagers? They'd get over it. They would probably agree with him most of the time.

The only sin Grimmjow ever saw in the world was a woman with an ungrateful fucker who didn't deserve her. It was his mission to liberate these women from the mindset that the scumbag was the best they could get. Enter Grimmjow, aka God's Gift to Women, and fuck some sense into them. And hey, they either took charge and set down some ground rules that would whip their men into shape, or they left the bastard. If the latter was their course of action, cue swift exit from Grimmjow.

If Ulquiorra could hear him now, he'd start up the sermon about how Grimmjow's justification for how he seduced married women into leaving their husbands on the pretence that Grimmjow was the 'best' that they could get and watch their lives fall apart as Grimmjow just disappeared as soon as he heard the words 'So now what?'.

In plain speak, he liked to screw married women and then leave as soon as the woman fell asleep. Just because he could. May be he was starting to get why he was in Hell … nah, must be something else.

While he could admit that he had never believed in the afterlife, Grimmjow was impressed with Lucifer's choice of decoration. The man had style. All the way to the Courtroom, Ulqui had been right about something at least, the corridors were lined with various groups of scantily dressed women. All turned their heads as he walked by with his guard, licking their lips and fluttering their lashes his way. It would be far too much to expect any of these temptresses to have a ring on their finger so he merely smirked at them as he passed.

Old habits die hard.

Once through yet another set of giant black doors brought him and his guard out in front of a grand courtroom with three judges and a single throne on a raised balcony overseeing the entire room. The throne was empty and in darkness. A loud banging brought Grimmjow's attention to the three judges.

One was how you would usually picture a judge, old with white hair and a lot of strong opinions of the acts of the younger generation. He sat in the centre and had been the one to call order. To his right was a brunette man with sleepy grey eyes and a kept goatee. His head was resting on the palm of his right hand and looked like he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep right then and there. Grimmjow couldn't blame him.

The third was so pretty, he couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman. Lush lips were set in a scowl that matched the hard look he was receiving from beautiful brown eyes. Outstanding orange hair settled around the otherwise angelic complexion, falling into the intense eyes that were pinning him to the spot. The gorgeous creature was looking at him with such distaste, Grimmjow was almost repenting for whatever sin he had ever committed. As if doing so might stop this heavenly being from regarding as the scum of the earth.

'Court is in order! This is how this is going to work Mr Jaegerjaques, you have been sent to straight to Hell, so your guilt is undeniable. The court will state your crimes and then give you a single task to complete that will reverse the 'Guilty' judgement. Starrk … Starrk, wake up!'

The lethargic brunette opened his eyes slightly and yawned behind his other gloved hand. 'You are being charged with manslaughter, adultery, assisted and otherwise and heresy. For all these things you are hereby found guilty and will have a mission that coincides with your most frequently committed sin.' The brunette nodded at the third judge and promptly fell back asleep.

The orange-haired beauty regarded him coldly for a moment longer before saying, 'I don't know what you want me to say. I hate people like him.'

'Lord Kurosaki, you are supposed to give him his task. May I again say that we are grateful for you stepping in for Miss Harribel.' The old judge bowed his head in curtsey. The angelic judge, identified as Kurosaki, rolled his eyes lightly and held out a hand. A smaller demon appeared at his side, knelt with bowed head, and handed Kurosaki a scroll. The demon swiftly made his exit without acknowledgement from the judges.

Kurosaki enrolled the scroll slightly and looked over the task. His eyes darkened as he sent an accusatory glare towards the old judge.

'What is the meaning of this? Is it absolute?' Kurosaki didn't show the words written on the scroll, nor did his lessen his glare.

'Yes, Lord Kurosaki. The tasks are set by his High Lordship, we have no control over it.'

'Fine, but I'm not reading it aloud.' The image of the angelic judge wavered slightly before suddenly reappearing a few feet before Grimmjow's spot on the black marble ground. There was a billowing of sheer black material as Kurosaki's lithe form dropped before him. There was a distinct twinkling of gold throughout the air as Kurosaki rose, his garment floating to the ground around him.

His clothes were not unlike the women who were positioned along the corridors, though of a much higher standard and far more tasteful. Grimmjow couldn't help but be reminded of the Middle East, with the long flowing black harem trousers, low on a slight waist and slim hips. A tight-fitting, high-collared waistcoat of black silk, embroidered with patterns of spun gold hid a lean torso from his eyes. Kurosaki's delicate looking wrists and ankles were bound with manacles of gold and black diamonds.

Lord Kurosaki held out the hand with the scroll tightly enclosed. Grimmjow followed the line the arm made up to Kurosaki's celestial face. The beautiful brown eyes were heavily outlined with thick kohl, making them stand out against his soft skin that held a faint shimmer of gold to it. He was too perfect. Too perfect to belong in this place surrounded by the spawn of evil, which now, he thought, included himself.

Grimmjow slowly raised his hand to receive the scroll, only to be pushed to his knees by several large guards.

'How dare you stand before Lord Kurosaki like an equal!' To male a point his head was pushed down further to an awkward angle, Kurosaki's bare feet where all he could see. 'Forgive us, my Lord. We should have been more vigilant.'

'Stand down. Raise your hands, not your head.' The tone was bored tinged with annoyance, 'By order of His High Lordship, this is the task you must complete in order to get a retrial.' Grimmjow was surprised when the scroll was placed gently into his palms. He had thought he had taken in everything of Ichigo's appearance, but within the warm softness of Ichigo's hands he felt a rough scraping along his right palm, it was almost as if …

'My, my, my … What is this, Lord Kurosaki?' The warm feeling of Kurosaki's hands suddenly left his, leaving a coldness settle over his entire being.

'My Lordship, how wonderful it is that you grace us with your presence.' Kurosaki's smooth baritone replied to what only could be described as the Boss man himself. Satan, Lucifer, whatever you called him. He was here and Grimmjow was glad that his head was still being held down, even as the guards around him knelt as well. Ichigo remained standing.

'I have a task for you, my dear Lord Kurosaki. Could you ensure that you finish up here quickly? It is a very urgent matter.'

'Certainly, my Lordship. As you command.'

'Oh, make sure you do. We have urgent business to attend to.'

Kurosaki's warm aura moved further from him, til he could almost no longer feel him. The booming voice of the old judge rang out.

'Ah, Miss Harribel has returned. Thank you for your services Lord Kurosaki.'

'It was no problem His High Lordship's decisions are absolute. Now if you will excuse me.'

The pressure on the back of his head was lifted just in time to see Kurosaki's billowing clothes disappear through another set of black marble doors. He did not even glance back at Grimmjow. For some reason that deeply irked Grimmjow.

'You are dismissed, Mr Jaegerjaques.'

And he was driven through a different set of doors just as promptly, scroll clutched in a cold hand.

* * *

Just a slight edit of the first chapter!

FlamingOrangeRose-x


	2. Chapter 2

Pairing: GinxIchigo

Summary: Hell was the place where you faced your demons, day after day for the rest of eternity. Looks like his favourite hobby was going to turn into his worst nightmare.

Warnings: Yaoi, AU, sexual situations, like always.

* * *

A Demon's Work Is Never Done

Chapter Two

* * *

Ichigo could not believe it. Not only did he have to fill in for Harribel, again, it just so happened to be for one of _those_ cases. Every single time one cropped up, which was increasing every century, Harribel had to mysteriously be otherwise occupied. If it was for the simple reason that she is female and should not have to be subjected to the pig muck that came into the courtroom, Ichigo would feel more at ease.

But no. This was Hell. Hell didn't do convenient.

He knew that as soon as he was summoned that the Gates would spew out another of the heathen that would love to declare themselves "God's Gift to Humanity". And what a … specimen they ejected from the cesspit of a stomach formally known as the Realm of the Living.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

What sick and twisted people would willingly name their child that? It's like in Disney, where's Simba's grandparents named one son Mufasa and the other Scar. You know that Scar is going to end up a little twisted, right?

And the way he presented himself in front of the court with such arrogance and false grandeur! It made Ichigo sick. And it wasn't even original! He had seen thousands of not millions of Grimmjows. The same air of masculine pride that was built up on some idea that he was any different from any of the other lowlifes who got thrown into Hell for their sins. Every single one of them thought they were so much better than everyone else around them.

They were quickly proved wrong. In fact, it was scum like Grimmjow that was clogging up the system because they never _ever _completed the task set for them that would give them freedom.

At first they thought that Hell would be a lot of fun and nothing like what was described to them as children by those who were aware of the consequences of their actions. They thought it all to be a joke, a mere fabrication.

They don't need to complete a task to go to a better place, because they're in the best place to be.

Wrong. Oh so very wrong.

In fact, after a while they start to realise that maybe it's not so great after all. Maybe they could have a crack at that task. But what's this? They've gambled away their one shot at getting out of here? Their task scroll was stolen by someone who thought your task was easier for them to do than their own.

Of course it doesn't work that way. But the desperate usually do crazy things when the life of luxury isn't looking so good this far down the line.

Ichigo is always thankful that he doesn't have to deal with them on a regular basis. Filthy heathen. Especially that worthless pig muck that dared to try to make eye contact with someone so high above their station. Also if he was not mistaken, the cretin even tried to touch his hands! He would have to deeply sanitise his entire body before he met with his High Lordship.

Thankfully, though the business maybe urgent, Ichigo would still have an hour to himself to make sure he was presentable enough to enter his High Lordship's chambers. The thing is, in Hell, time isn't really as important. Ichigo literal has all the time in Hell to do as he pleases. Except when it clashes with orders from his Lordship. They are of vital importance to the innermost running of Hell.

He made his way to his own quarters. Not quite as lavish as the overall feel of the dominion in which the Courtroom rests. Which is his Lordship's, for lack of a more suitable word, castle. Most people will only see the courtroom and nothing else. Most people being the scum that has to be sorted. The workers within the castle all have quarters. The closer you were to his High Lordship, he closer and bigger your quarters were.

He preferred his quarters to be simpler than the elaborate decorations of the Courthouse. And far lighter. He would always agree with his Lordship's decisions, though they were not a personal preference of his. Both his and his Lord's that is. Ichigo knew for a fact that his Lordship didn't have the black and gold colour scheme in his own chambers.

Neither did Ichigo. His quarters were of white and blue. A blue that he was going to have to change because looking at it reminded him of that insufferable cretin.

Maybe he would not be so elaborate in his preparations. Though even thinking about it was absurd. His Lord deserved the best. And that is exactly what Ichigo was going to give him.

Quickly locking the doors behind him, Ichigo heads towards his en-suite bathroom. Dropping clothes like ink blots on fine paper. He knew that the uniform went with the colour scheme of the Court, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Though there was staff available to walk after him cleaning up his mess, Ichigo preferred to do it himself in his free time. This was most of the time. He valued his privacy. In fact, only 6 other people had ever stepped foot in his quarters and he was determined to keep it that way.

He walked into his white and blue bathroom and stepped straight into the large shower, turning the water as hot as possible. The stereotype that Hell was all "blazing inferno" was so far from the truth it was unreal. Especially when his uniform did not come with footwear. Cold marble plus bare feet equals not pleasant. There was always a cold chill on the back of your neck that you just couldn't shift.

It wasn't that noticeable to those who had come from the Realm of the Living. Most were used to the temperature. Some even complained that it was hot! This was absurd.

Scrubbing at the layer of grime that came with dealing with the scum of the universe for too long. Which, actually, was nothing compared to the judges who sat there almost 24/7/365. How he felt for them.

He washed his orange locks with far more care. A permanent reminder of his dear mother in Heaven, who he hasn't seen in so long. It was painful at first to look in mirrors and see the daily dose of pain atop his head. Another poke at his current situation that he couldn't reverse not matter how hard he tried. But that was all in the beginning; when he was too young to understand why it had happened to him

The hatred he had felt had turned to love over the centuries he had served in Satan's Court of the Damned. You would usually scoff when someone told you time heals all. But if you had all of eternity at your feet you gain a _lot_ of perspective about these things.

Finishing up, Ichigo turned off the shower and stepped out. A heavy blast of hot air dried his body in seconds, causing his hair to spring back up in its unruly spiky style, proving its resilient nature once again. He fiddled with it for a while before giving up, once again, on it ever doing as he bade.

His bedroom was a little more extravagant than the general feel of his quarters. Comfort while he slept was a must as far as Ichigo was concerned. A queen sized, four-poster bed with white silk sheets and white drapes. He had blue pillows as well, but after the day's events they would be gone as demonly possible. The rest of the furniture was white wood and of very high quality.

Opening the floor to ceiling doors of his walk-in wardrobe, Ichigo headed to the section with finer clothes reserved for meetings with his High Lordship. They were also a little unorthodox for Hell, if that was humanely imaginable. Thankfully, the passageway from Ichigo's quarters to his High Lordship's was one which none were to tread, excluding Ichigo obviously.

Their Lord valued his privacy even more than Ichigo did; meaning even fewer had stepped past the doors to their Master's quarters.

He donned a simple white tunic, brushed it down and headed out of his rooms. The tunic fell to mid-thigh and was completely plain and void of embroidery. His feet were still bare and he still wore the gold manacles on wrist and ankle, a requirement for one of his situation.

He placed his hand on the handle of the grand doors to his High Lordship's quarters and squinted through the blinding light that came forth as the mighty doors opened.

"Right on time, Ichigo."

"Always … Gin."

* * *

So far, Grimmjow was seriously unimpressed. It was all going so great until Satan had to whisk the gorgeous, orange angel away. Leaving him to be dragged by his arms backwards into the main circle of Hell.

Which, if he was perfectly honest, was a major let down compared to the Gates and Court. It was as if that part had all been a dream and he had just woken up back home. On Earth.

No wait. Not his home exactly. Just an insanely larger version of Las Vegas.

If you can believe that. Which would be pretty impossible right?

Where were the punishment and the flames?

Seriously un-im-pressed.

The guards had basically dumped him on the side of a "road" and left without a word. So much for showing him the ropes.

And the people! Imagine all the low-lives you've ever known or heard about being in one place just waiting to fuck you over. You wouldn't come close to imagining what this shit tip was like. Yeah it had all the neon lights and fancy casinos, but there was even less chance of you winning it big time on the tables or the slots.

So … where to go from here? The workers weren't going to give him a hint, so he'd have to charm the 411 outta someone. And pretty quick since he was sure that the guy standing on the corner of the nearest building was eyeing him up for something. Something that he was going to fight to the death about.

Ha. Fight to the death.

Do people even get hungry in Hell?

Shaking his head at the thought, Grimmjow picked himself up, dusted himself off and walked down the main street. Taking in the sights and for some clue of how Hell works.

How hard could it be?

* * *

A new chapter! Wow, it's been a while, huh? Never mind. Better late than never!

FlamingOrangeRose-x


End file.
